Adventures of a Khajiit Alchemist
by D.C.C.Musicalworks
Summary: When a young Alchemist arrives in Skyrim for the first time to master his craft, little does he know that Skyrim, much like its people, can be harsh and unforgiving.


As he crossed over yet another tundra ridge, the Khajiit saw the outlines of a village in the distance. His route had taken him off the main road, but if his map was to be believed said village should be Rorikstead; a little hamlet on the far edge of Whiterun Hold. Good timing too, as the sun had just began to set and little snowdrops had began to fall. The feline pulled up his travel cloak and adjusted the bag full of alchemy ingredients he had been collecting throughout the day. Tomorrow, on his way back to Whiterun, he'd gather a few more on the road, but for now he made his way to the village. Lured by the promise of a hot meal, some ale and maybe an adventure or two? Who knew?

Much like he expected, Rorikstead was a farming village. What he had not expected to see, however, was just how big and thriving the fields were, in spite of the cold climate. So thriving, in fact, that the old farmer that was the first to greet him was having trouble carrying all of today's harvest into his barn.

"Well hello there. Don't see too many strangers around here." the old man said.

"Ah, just passing through. Was on an errand and lost track of time." the Khajiit responded with a smile. "Saw the village in the distance and figured I'd stop by for the night."

"I see. Well the Frostfruit inn over there has warm food and shelter. Was about to head up there myself for a mug of ale and some stew."

"Why thank you! Do you need some help carrying those though? Looks kind of heavy..."

"Naw I got it, but thank you for the offer young-un. It's been a good harvest this year."

"Indeed. Wasn't expecting to see farms thriving in this climate. What's your secret? Some kind of super fertilizer?" the Khajiit asked, grinning toothily while reaching down and taking one of the farmer's potatoes out of the bag to examine it for a moment. It was probably the biggest and healthiest specimen he had seen thus far in all of his travels.

The old farmer's expression changed and he quickly shook his head. "No secrets. Just... a lot of hard work and dedication."

The Khajiit nodded his head. None of his business anyway, right? He put the potato back in the farmer's sack, adjusted his own heavy bag and then made his way up to the inn.

As promised the interior of Frostfruit inn was warm and welcoming. The heat of the hearth and the scent of boiling stew washed over him as soon as entered. For a moment he stood in the doorway and simply basked in it. Skyrim had plenty of flaws, but it had its good things too, he had learned. And nowhere else did the heart of the Empire's Northern people shine through as much as within the walls of its inns which, contrary to the harsh and unwelcoming climate outside, usually felt like little shiny bastions of kindness and warmth.

His thoughts were interrupted by the innkeeper calling out to him. "Might want to close that door, son! It's getting cold out there. Come inside, what can I get for you?"

After paying for a one night room and board, the Khajiit joined the other villagers for dinner near the hearth. As he suspected most of them were farmers and farmers' sons and daughters. Almost all of the locals seemed too tired from their hard day's work to have long conversations with the cat-man. Either that or they were simply not interested in talking to a stranger. All except for one of them; a young lad who had found himself a seat near the Khajiit and had struck up a conversation.

"You wouldn't happen to be an adventurer, would you?" the boy asked.

"Of a sort. I'm an alchemist actually." the Khajiit responded. "But I do tend to get around gathering ingredients and what not. And I occasionally stumble upon... interesting things."

"Aah. So you're not with the trade caravans huh? Didn't think so. They usually travel in groups. Occasionally pass through here, but the guards don't like having them around so they don't tend to linger. Oh. Name's Erik by the way."

"John Smith." the Khajiit smiled. "Nice to meet you, Erik."

"Well met... John?" The Nord's face betraying his confusion, which the Khajiit quickly addressed.

"Unusual name for my kind, I know. I didn't grow up with the tribes in Elsewyr, see? I'm from Cyrodil. My adoptive father was a fisherman in Bravil." John explained, taking slow sips of his ale.

"Ah! Right. That does explain a few things yes." Erik responded. "Me, I was born here in the 'stead. My father owns this inn in fact." he said, nudging his head towards the balding middle aged inn-keeper behind the bar. "Born and raised in this farming village and... destined to be a farmer I guess..."

"Nothing wrong with that." the Khajiit remarked while casting a sideways glance at Erik. "The farms around here seem to be doing rather well. Hard work and no magical fertilizer, if the guy I met earlier is to be believed."

"Heh. Yes. Yes indeed." the Nord said, finicking with his spoon for a moment.

"Still, I get the impression that you'd rather not become a farmer then?"

"Well... its a good living, like you said. Especially around here, but... I don't know. I always wanted to see more, you know? There's a whole continent out there and all kinds of, well, glorious adventure? Just like in the old stories and legends? I know, I know. Probably just a childish dream, but..."

"No no! Not at all! I mean, that's great if you want to get out there yaknow? Do the right thing? Travel the country and help out wherever its needed? It's a noble calling!"

The Nord smiled brightly. "I'm glad you think so too. Not that it's going to happen. You know, if it were up to me... I'd set out first thing tomorrow, but... I don't have any equipment. Not even an old family's sword I could dust off, much less any armor. Heh. The downside of coming from a line of noble farmers I suppose! Besides, my old man would throw a fit if I told him so..."

The Khajiit shook his head. "Nonsense. You've obviously got the spirit and the heart to do it. If it's just equipment you need, well... Tell you what! Come see me in Whiterun sometime? I know my way around a forge. Don't expect miracles, or Skyforge Steel or anything, but if it's just a basic sword and some leather armor you need I'll hook you up. Besides... I'll probably be doing a lot of traveling myself and I sure wouldn't mind the company."

"Really? You'd do that for me?" the Nord lad asked incredulously.

"Sure! Like I said. You seem like a decent sort. And as for your father, well..." John mused while casting a sideways glance at the stern looking inn-keeper. "Just talk to him about it? I'm sure he'll understand your desire to... what is it that mum used to say? Spread your wings and leave the nest? I mean, I'm sure my old man would have preferred if I stayed in Bravil and became a fisherman like him. Heck, I would have if I hadn't been so fascinated by flowers and mushrooms all my life! I mean, he wasn't thrilled when I left for Imperial City to learn the craft, and he was even less thrilled when I told him I'd be heading to Skyrim, of all places, to master it, but in the end he supported me. Your dad seems like a reasonable and level-headed sort so... sit down and talk it over at least? And if that doesn't work, well... let me have a word or two with him? I mean, nobody... and I do mean nobody, ever resists my kitten eyes!"

Erik, whose mood had gone from inquisitive to dour to incredulous in the span of just a couple of minutes of chatting, threw his head back and burst out laughing.

After enjoying a sweet roll desert and having a lovely discussion about what kind of mythical beast the two of them would be slaying first, John turned in for the night. Little did he know his rest was to be rudely interrupted in the dead of night by the sharp tip of a sword prodding his shoulder.

"Wake up!"

John groggily opened his eyes, only to find himself staring into the intimidating face-covering helmets of a pair of city guards. The image blurred flawlessly with that of the faceless monster he was battling in his dreams, thus he awoke with a loud cry and a shudder. All it did was earn him another rough prod with the drawn longsword one of the guards was pressing against his shoulder.

"Shut up! Get up and stand in the corner. And keep those hands where I can see them, cat." the guard barked.

John, confused and disoriented, did like he was told, raising his black-furred arms in submission. "W-what's going on?" he asked.

"Silence!" Was all he got in response, the guard keeping him pinned between the wall and the sharp tip of his sword. "Find anything?" he eventually asked his partner, whom had rather unceremoniously taken John's bag and had emptied out its contents onto the floor.

"Oh yes. Information was spot on." the other guard said, as he held up a small crystal. It had once been clear purple, but now it was swirling with black, evil magic.

A black soul gem.

"That... that's not mine!" John protested, looking at the crystal with wide-eyed horror.

"Sure. Like I haven't heard that a million times before coming from your kind." the guard snorted. "Let me guess. It just magically appeared in your bag?"

"I... yes. I'm not... Look at the plants!" John squeaked, gazing down at the scattered assortment of flowers and weeds. "I'm just an alchemist. Not even that, an alchemist assistant! I don't know anything about..."

A ring-mail covered hand struck him across the nose.

"Save it, Necromancer! Consider yourself lucky if we don't just hand you over to the Vigilants of Stendar!"

Before he could utter another word a gag was shoved into the Khajiit's muzzle and rough hands bound his own behind his back.

The journey to Whiterun was exhausting. A forced march that lasted all throughout the night. Without food, without rest, without any relief for his increasingly aching wrists. When they finally went through Whiterun's massive front gate, John only vaguely registered the booing and hissing of the crowd that was being kept at distance by his armed guards. Word of the captured necromancer had spread fast, it seemed. As he was dragged up the long stairs past the Talos shrine towards the Dragonsreach dungeons he caught a brief glimpse of a girl in a blue dressed who regarded him with an expression of shock and horror as she dropped the basket of dried flowers she was carrying.

Ysolda tried to push through the crowd and reach the guards, but like everyone else she was roughly pushed back.

"Nothing to see here! Everybody back to your business!" the guards barked, worn out from the long trek and very much looking forward to a hot meal and some well earned rest in the guards' barracks. None such luxuries would await the staggering, exhausted Khajiit in the dungeons.

Ysolda, unable to get anywhere near the Khajiit, instead fell back through the crowd, her basket long forgotten, and banged loudly on the front door of Whiterun's Alchemist, Arcadia.

"Arcadia! Arcadia get out here!" she called. After a few moments the door opened and the tired face of her friend appeared.

"Ysolda? What is it? What is all the..." was all the alchemist managed to say before her eyes grew wide at the sight of the black-furred Khajiit being dragged through the street.

* * *

Arcadia had first met John only about a week prior to these events. It was on a Tirdas towards the end of the day. She'd been up all day long brewing potions, as the Companions of Whiterun had set out earlier that morning to clear out a bandit camp within the area. That kind of activity usually meant they'd be requiring plenty of healing potions and salves from her, all of which she was happy to provide to what were definitely her most trusted and regular customers. She was nearing completion on the last batch when the stranger walked in the door.

"Hello and welcome to Arcadia's cauldron. Feel free to look around, let me know if there's anything you need." she said, briefly turning towards John and offering him a kind, if somewhat wary smile.

"Hello Arcadia!" he said cheerfully. "I'm John Smith. It's an honor to meet you!" the Khajiit said, as he stepped towards her and offered her a hand to shake. Arcadia tilted her head slightly and looked him over. He was wearing worn, but comfortable traveling clothes and a backpack. Didn't look like he was part of the trade caravans, which was probably the reason why the Khajiit was allowed to go into the city in the first place.

"Pleased to meet you too... John?" Such an odd name for a Khajiit, she thought, as she shook the lad's hand. The lad, in turn, looked at her expectantly, which made her feel even more confused. "I'm sorry, but... have we met? Do I know you?"

Now it was the Khajiit's turn to be somewhat perplexed. "Yes? It's me. John Smith? From the letter? The one master Georick sent you?"

Arcadia tilted her head the other way. Master Georick? That name did bring back memories. Memories of her home land of Cyrodil. Last she saw of Ogier Georick, he was running a store in Imperial City. The Main Ingredient, as it was called. Still... "You're acquainted with him then? I haven't spoken to him in a very long time..."

"Of course!" the Khajiit said. "I'm his apprentice! Or well, I was his apprentice. He said I had learned pretty much all there was to know about Cyrodilic alchemy and its ingredients so he suggested I travel to Skyrim and study under you for a while. He also figured there'd be a want for aspiring alchemists here, what with the Stormcloak rebellion conflict and what not... He said he'd send a letter of recommendation ahead. I'm... guessing it never arrived then?" John said, his cat-ears drooping downwards a little.

"Ah. That... explains quite a few things. More likely he just forgot really. Great alchemist, but kind of a scatter brain." Arcadia mused, while rubbing the back of her head. "Still, this is rather unexpected. I admit I'm a bit overwhelmed by this. No offense to you dear, you're probably quite talented if you studied under him. And I'm deeply flattered you'd come all this way to become my pupil, but, truth is I'm really not looking for any students of the craft right now. I'm busy enough as it is with the war going on, I really don't have the time to be teaching..."

"Oh..." the Khajiit said, unable to hide his disappointment. "But...Well... I mean... it sounds like you could use some help though? Maybe not an apprentice, but... an assistant?" he purred hopefully, giving the older women a hefty dose of his trademark 'kitten eyes'. "I can earn my own keep! You won't even know I'm here, honest."

At the very least it seemed to throw Arcadia off her game. She let out a heavy sigh. "Look, how about we talk about this over dinner? I've been up all day. I skipped lunch and I'm really in the mood for some..."

"FARKAS!"

The loud exclamation caused both their heads to turn towards the door.

"Quit being such a milk-drinker and get inside!"

The source of the commotion was a group of Skyrim's Companions. The order of highly regarded warriors. Three of them, to be exact. Aela the Huntress, Vilkas and his younger brother Farkas, who was being pushed inside by the other two and whose left forearm looked like it had become intimately acquainted with the inside of a bear's maw.

"Oh my goodness!" Arcadia exclaimed, quickly rushing towards the trio of warriors. "Oh you poor dear. Well. I take it this means that the raid went well?"

"About as well as expected. None of them even laid a finger on us." Aela smirked proudly. "But of course ice-brain over here managed to get his arm stuck in one of their bear traps."

"It's just a scratch..." Farkas grumbled. "I don't need none of them healing ointments! It'll heal up just fine on its own!"

Aela and Vilkas both let out a heavy sigh.

"Why do you have to be such a blubbering baby all the time brother?" Vilkas sighed. "And why is it that you can stick your arm in a bear trap and not let out so much as an 'ow!', but the moment we take you to get your wounds treated you start crying like a milk-drinker?"

"Because that ointment stings! Hurts far worse than a bear trap." Farkas protested, and flinched the moment he noticed Arcadia uncorking one of her red bottles.

"That's just how you know it's working the way it should dear." she said, with an endearing, if not somewhat mocking motherly smile. "Now hold still so I can..."

"Actually... if I might interject?" John Smith interrupted. All eyes suddenly turning on him.

"Who is this then? He with one of the caravans?" Aela asked, having only just now noticed the Khajiit standing there.

"No no. He's from Cyrodil. It's... a long story." Arcadia sighed. "What is it John?"

"Well... that potion you have there. Standard potion of healing right? Wheat and blisterwort?" he asked.

"Sure. What about it?"

"Well, in that case I know why it stings so much. You see, blisterwort is a very acidic mushroom and when you distill it..."

"Yes, it releases its acidity into the potion your brewing. I know that dear."

"Right! Of course you do. Sorry. Erhm. What I'm trying to say is... there's an easy way to neutralize the acid and make the ointment a bit more, well, soothing for the patient?" he purred, giving Farkas a kind smile. "I could demonstrate if you'd like? Won't take a minute I promise!"

Arcadia briefly looked back and forth between John and Aela, before the latter threw her arms up and released the still squirming Farkas. "Oh fine! Whatever stops ice-brain over here from crying."

John smiled toothily. "May I?" he asked, before taking the potion from his tutor-to-be and bringing it over to her alchemy workstation. "See, I picked some lovely flowers on my way to Whiterun. Much to my surprise I found some lavender growing here." he purred, taking a twig of the purple, fragrant flower from his sash. "Not only does it smell nice, but when melted with some animal fat and strained into a cream together with the healing potion... it acts as a base to neutralize the acids! Plus its very good for the skin and it smells lovely!" he purred, presenting the result of his work with an adorable closed-eyed smile.

Aela and Arcadia briefly exchanged a look and Vilkas looked like he was about to drop a milk-drinker, along with a whole bunch of other derogatory slurs into the conversation, but John had already moved up to Farkas.

"Now then. Let's see that arm, big guy?" A compliment not at all undeserved, as the tall Nord easily towered over the five-foot-five cat.

"Wait! I told you I don't need...!" Farkas gazed down angrily at the cat, but his expression quickly turned into one of child-like wonder as he realize his arm was already coated with the cream John had just made. "Oh wow. Hey! That actually... feels really good!"

John simply grinned ear to ear. "Told you. There you go. Now keep that arm bandaged up and re-apply the rest of this cream first thing tomorrow morning and you'll be bashing in bandit skulls, or wrestling with wolves or... well... whatever it is you folks do, well before mid-day!"

Aela lowered her head into her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Urgh. I can't believe... You happy ice-brain? Good. Let's get out of here." she groaned, giving a curt nod to both alchemists before dragging Farkas out of the store, as the tall man looked like he was about to give John a bone-crushing bear-hug.

After the companions had left, Arcadia turned her attention back to John, who was still grinning widely and flicking his cat tail about like he was obviously very pleased with himself. "Well that was... something I suppose. Alright. You earned me a happy customer so... consider yourself hired. For the time being at least." she sighed. "I don't really have anywhere for you to sleep except for the basement right now, but..."

"No worries, no worries! I've slept in the lower deck of an imperial ship for the past couple of months. Whatever stone your basement floor is made of is bound to be more comfortable than that. And less wet too."

"Right. Speaking of which... I should get some more logs for the fire. Looked like it was going to rain pretty soon and..."

"I'm on it! You just go ahead and relax for now. Oh and thank you, teacher! I won't disappoint you!" the Khajiit said, and was already out the door before Arcadia could say another word. All that was left for her to do was to silently shake her head and head towards her basement to pile up some hay for her new... guest.

The streets of Whiterun were almost empty. As the sun slowly set across the horizon, most villagers had either returned to their homes, or went over to the Bannered Mare inn for a hot meal and some rest. The market area, where Arcadia's store was located, which during the day was bustling and filled with the sounds of merchants advertising their wares and the odd priest preaching (loudly) about Gods and Sin, was quiet now. Quiet save for the steady cracking noise of a heavy axe being brought down repeatedly on a pile of logs and the cracking sounds of splintering wood.

While John busied himself cutting up firewood for his new teacher, he was noticed by another resident of Whiterun; a woman in a blue dress, whom frequently visited Arcadia's store.

"Hi there. It's nice to see a new face in town. You're not with the trade caravans, are you?" she asked, providing a welcome opportunity for the Khajiit to pause his heavy labor.

"You know..." John said, while he turned to face the girl and leaned forward casually on the haft of the axe. "People keep asking me that. Are there really no other Khajiit here besides those with the trade caravans?"

"Pretty much. The guards won't have them inside the city so I figured you weren't one of them. I'm Ysolda." the girl smiled.

"John Smith." the Khajiit replied, smiling back at her. "So how come they're not allowed inside?"

The girl shrugged. "You know how it is. A few bad apples. Your kind doesn't have the most... spotless reputation."

"Yeah. Yeah so I've heard." John sighed. It was true, people did tend to be rather prejudiced against the cat folk. Unfortunately for the most part... it was with good reason. "Hope you don't mistrust me just because I happen to be Khajiit though?"

The girl shrugged. "Nah. The ones I've dealt with never gave me any reason not to trust them. Besides, I'd like to think I'd spot a liar when I see one. So what brings you to town then?" she asked.

"Ah, I'm Arcadia's new apprentice." the lad smiled proudly. "Recently arrived from Cyrodil after my old teacher recommended I... visit Skyrim for a while. Get to learn the local culture and, you know, help out where I can. What with the war and all."

"Oh really? I know Arcadia. I occasionally collect flowers for her. And that's a noble cause." she smirked. It was hard to tell whether she was simply amused or... bemused. "I wonder though, which side will you be helping, master alchemist?"

John flitted his ears back and forth a couple of times. He had very carefully avoided picking a side when mentioning the Stormcloak uprising. If anything, the Nords were a rather proud people and very robust in their convictions. Whiterun especially seemed to have supporters for both sides among its people.

"Well, to be honest... I hadn't really thought about it. I'm not one to get involved in politics honestly. I'm sure both sides make a strong argument about why they're right, but..."

"So you're just here to turn a profit selling your potions to whomever happens to be winning?" Ysolda asked. Again, it was hard to say if her smile was kind, or testing.

"No no! Not at all!" John hastily shook his head. "Well, a little bit? I mean a cat's got to eat, right? What I mean is... ehm... if I had to help a wounded soldier I would be looking at the gravity of his injuries, not the color of his uniform?"

Ysolda snorted and crossed her arms. "A coward's answer. But an honest one. I like that. You'll need a better sales pitch than that though, if you want to turn a profit at all."

"Ah. So you're a trader yourself then?" John asked, very happily taking the opportunity to change the subject.

"Of a sort. I'm actually hoping to run an inn someday. But come, it's getting late. Shall we continue this conversation inside the inn? My treat." she added with a wicked smile.

"Sure! Oh, but you don't have to buy. I still have some money left over from..."

Ysolda shook her head, taking a sudden step forward, and silencing the Khajiit by pressing a finger against his nose. "Word of advice, kitty. When a Nord woman offers to buy you a drink, you don't say no." she smirked, before turning on her heels and stepping towards the inn, leaving a rather perplexed John to stare after her for a couple of moments, relishing the warm spot her hand had left on his nose before remembering he was supposed to follow her in. It took about six steps before he realized that bringing the axe inside the inn was probably not such a good idea.

Moments later the two of them were sitting inside the Bannered Mare, enjoying a hot bowl of soup and some mead, which, to John's pleasant surprise, tasted a lot better than the kind he was used to back in Cyrodil. "An old Skyrim tradition." as Ysolda explained to him. She proceeded to tell him a little bit about the local meaderies and her frequent visits to them.

"Knowing the people that produce the best local products helps a lot if you want to run an inn someday." she explained.

"You sure seem to know your trade." the Khajiit remarked, genuinely impressed. "I've never given much thought to trading and bartering. But I probably should. Seems only logical that I'd open my own store someday. Once I become a true master alchemist."

"Well then, perhaps I could teach you a thing or two. You'll need to have shrewd business sense if you... oh Mikael! Hello! Come join us!"

Mikael, the bard, flashed her a broad smile. "Ysolda. Always a pleasure to see you my dear. Who's your friend?" he asked, before pulling up a chair.

"This is John Smith. John, this is Mikael. The most amazing bard in all of Skyrim." Ysolda said. The difference Mikael's presence made was almost comical. The headstrong woman who had earlier lectured John about his attitude towards the civil war was practically swooning.

"Aw, come now Ysolda. A bard is only as good as their lovely muse!" Mikael said, grinning coyly as he took Ysolda's hand and brought it up to his lips. "So, John Smith eh? That's a funny name for a cat." the bard said, turning to John. "You're not from, what's it called, Some-place-else-thing?"

"Elsewyr... no, I wasn't raised within the tribes. I'm from Cyrodil..."

"Right! Figured you weren't! You don't talk funny like the other cats do. Anyway! Ysolda, you must hear this latest sonnet! I'm thinking of naming it after you!

Ysolda blushed and shook her head. "Oh Mikael, you don't have to do that just to impress me, you know? But yes, I would love to hear it. Please." she smiled.

As the bard stood up and found his lute, Ysolda cast a sideways glance to John. "Amazing isn't he? His sonnets are just beautiful. I really wonder where he draws his inspiration from."

John, who up to that point had been staring rather intensely at the content of his half-empty mug of mead, looked up and raised his eyebrows. "He's... definitely a real bard." he decided the safest answer was.

After Mikael finished playing his song, twice as Ysolda seemed to really enjoy the little sonnet, the three of them spent a while longer talking, until Ysolda excused herself, saying it was time to head home. As she approached the door she briefly turned and smiled at both men before making her way out.

"Man, she is quite something huh?" Mikael said.

"Mmhmm." was John's response, as he finished the rest of his mead.

"Girls love sonnets. Word of advice, don't get any ideas, cat. She's mine. Once Mikael gets them, they're got." the bard said with a self-assured smirk.

"Is that so?" John said, offering the other male a close-lipped smile before getting up and heading back towards Arcadia's place. "We will see about that."

* * *

The stone floor of Arcadia's basement was still a lot more comfortable than the lower deck of the ship. John slept rather peacefully and deep, though he had a very strange dream. In his dream he was chasing after a giant. Somehow he had gotten it into his head that he needed to catch up to it, slay it, cut off its big toe and eat it, for doing so would make him a truly great alchemist. He had gotten close enough to feel the earth shake from every slow step, yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could not catch up to the monstrous thing.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Went the giant's footsteps.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Even when John groggily opened his eyes the following morning, the thumping of the giant's footsteps did not go away. Until he realized that it wasn't the giant's steps that were making the noise; somebody was banging on the front door!

Muttering softly to himself he got off the hay pile and stumbled towards the front door. When he opened it he found himself face to face with a wolf's head. Or rather, an iron chest-plate, decorated with a snarling wolf's head. Looking up he found himself staring right into the eyes of Vilkas, the Companion he had met the other day.

"There you are, short-stuff." the warrior said. "Decided to stick around I see? Good."

"Wha- yes. Yes I'm still here. What's this about?" John asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"It's about Farkas and that thing you did yesterday with the purple flowers."

John vaguely recalled the events that had happened the day before. "Oh! Right? What about it. Did the poultice not work? Do I need to...?"

Vilkas shook his head. "Oh no, it worked alright. In fact, my brother won't shut up about how amazing his arm feels after you treated it. So Aela and I figured we'd best stock up in case he gets himself hurt again. Here's some gold. If you can get us about a dozen more of those salves we'd very much appreciate it. Oh, and ask Arcadia if she needs any more horker tusks, we'll be heading up North soon." the warrior said, and dumped a heavy bag into John's hand. "I have to get back to Jorvaskr. Drop the potions off at the mead hall as soon as they're ready, alright?"

Before John even had a chance to reply the warrior already turned on his heels and headed back, leaving a rather perplexed and groggy Khajiit standing in the door opening.

When Arcadia awoke about an hour later she found the Khajiit hard at work grinding up lavender leaves.

"You're up early." she remarked. "It's barely past seven. Did you sleep well?"

"Yup! You had some customers earlier today." the Khajiit murmured without looking up from his work. "Those warriors from yesterday wanted more of my healing salve. Money's in the till. Figured I'd get started so we don't keep them waiting."

"Warriors? Oh, the Companions you mean?" Arcadia walked over to the store's desk and opened the money drawer. Much to her surprise she found a hefty bag of gold in there. Admittedly she had emptied it out earlier given that she had a Khajiit for a house guest. An act she couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty about upon seeing that her new pupil was already earning her much more than just his own keep. "Wait, they paid you up front? Well then... guess you made quite an impression."

"Seems like it!" John grinned proudly. A few hours and the store's entire stock of wheat, blisterwort and lavender later and the two of them had finished up a sizable batch of John's no-sting healing salve. Arcadia insisted he take half the money too, but the Khajiit insisted that she should keep most of it. They were using her equipment and ingredients after all.

"Really. Just room and board and a chance to study under you is enough, miss! I won't say no to a little bit of pocket money, but really... I'm not here to take away your business. Well, not yet at any rate." he joked with a sly smile, and was out the door to deliver the goods before Arcadia had a chance to retort.

* * *

A few days later towards mid-day, as Ysolda was wandering the market place looking over the offered wares, she was suddenly taken out of her revelry by the sound of John clearing his throat, followed by the soft thump of something very heavy being set down on the ground. When she turned around her eyes were immediately drawn not to the Khajiit, but to the object he had placed in front of her.

Held upright by the Khajiit's slender hands was a mammoth's tusk. Ivory white and decorated with both various intertwining carvings and purple flowers.

"John? What... what is this?" she asked surprisedly.

"My, your very own mammoth tusk, my lady! As you requested!" The Khajiit was grinning ear to ear and made a flourishing bow towards her.

"Where did you...?"

"Ah! I ehm, well, a little bird told me you were in the market for such a tusk so... I took the liberty of getting one for you!" he smiled.

"That's... where did you get this?!" Ysolda exclaimed. It was true she had promised one of the Khajiit caravan leaders such a tusk in exchange for a few lessons on caravan trading, but she had not expected one to be delivered to her in such a manner.

"Ah, from the bandit infested mine up North." the Khajiit smirked, gesturing in said direction with his thumb. "I noticed some of the unsavory fellows were in possession of quite a few of these tusks, so I went over there and... procured one for you."

Ysolda raised one of her eyebrows, regarding the Khajiit skeptically. "You? Went over to a bandit camp and... got them to give you a tusk?"

"Oh they wouldn't just give it up, my lady! Ah, truly it was not before glorious battle and hard-fought victory that I was able to take this tusk from them!" the Khajiit said, puffing out his chest and making sword slashing motions with his free hand.

Ysolda raised her other eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. "... glorious battle?" She couldn't help but notice the Khajiit was wearing only light clothing, was unarmed and not a single scratch was on him.

John chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "Okay okay, maybe not so much glorious battle as... as a couple of home-brewed potions of invisibility. Achem! Point is... this is for you!"

Ysolda shook her head a couple of times, then smiled. "Well, it's a beautiful tusk, John. You really didn't have to do that, but... thank you. Thank you very much." she said, reaching for the tusk and carefully examining the engravings. "Did you make these?"

"Ah... yes. The thing was a bit plain so I figured this would make a better impression. I heard it's meant for one of the caravan leaders, right? I'm sure they'll appreciate it." John purred.

"Indeed. What are these flowers?" Ysolda asked.

"Oh those! Ehm. Thistles. I picked a few on the way over to the mine. They ehm... they kind of reminded me of you so... I figured it'd be a nice touch..." John said, while gazing off to the side, feeling a rush of warmth wash up his ears. If his face wasn't covered with spotted fur he would have blushed, probably.

"Thistles? I remind you of... thistles? Aren't they an invasive weed? With leaves that sting?" Ysolda asked with a bemused smile on her face.

"Well... yes. They are, but... They also bloom beautifully. And they're strong and resilient and if you try to pick them without respecting their boundaries they'll sting you. But once you do get to their roots and get to know them... it turns out that they make a very nice concoction that warms the heart and protects one against the cold. So... I... yeah. I kept thinking of you..."

Ysolda couldn't help but smile at that. Sure, the Khajiit was no poet like Mikael, but still: "That's very, very sweet of you, John. Thank you." she said, before leaning down and giving the lad a soft kiss on his cheek.

John, for the remainder of the day, was in the most happy of places.

* * *

John was in the most unhappy of places. He only vaguely recalled being dragged into the Dragonsreach dungeon, where they once again went through his items and had thrown him into a dank, dirty and dark cell without even asking so much as a single question, where he had collapsed on the rough cot. Exhausted from the long march from Rorikstead. The guard hadn't even bothered to remove his shackles, nor had they removed the cloth gag from his mouth. When he finally awoke after what must have been several hours his limbs and jaw ached and his stomach would not stop rumbling.

Necromancy. The poor lad had never even touched a regular purple soul-gem, much less a black one. Where had it come from? Did someone plant it in his bag? And if so, why? Who had he pissed off enough for them to want to see him thrown in jail? Worse than all that, he had no idea of the extent of the trouble he was in. Necromancy, especially the soul-stealing black-gem kind, was a heinous crime. One that could very well end up with his head on the chopping block.

His train of thought was interrupted by a guard opening up his cell door and roughly hoisting him onto his feet. The sudden activity causing his muscles to cry out in protest while spots appeared before his eyes. He hazily looked at the guard; was it the same one that had brought him here from Rorikstead? It was impossible to tell thanks to the full-faced helmets they all wore, and being gagged still, he couldn't ask either.

A flicker of hope appeared as the guard dragged him out of the cell, but his hopes were quickly crushed when the Khajiit realized they weren't heading for the exit. Instead he was taken into the dungeon's inner courtyard. It was cold and dark out. Had he slept all through the day or just for a couple of hours? There was no time to dwell on those questions, as his eyes widened with horror upon seeing the whipping post in the center of the courtyard. He let out a weak cry of dismay as the guard led him straight towards it.

* * *

"Necromancy?!" Arcadia gasped. "They arrested him for necromancy?"

Ysolda, who had only just found out about John's fate after speaking to one of her old friends in the city guard nodded her head solemnly.

"But that's ridiculous. I mean... the boy's a bit daft, but there's no way he could have been tampering with the black arts! Right?"

"I don't know, Arcadia. They said they found black soul-gems in his bag." It was Vilkas who had chimed in there, having joined the two ladies after hearing what had happened.

"Ogier Georick would never allow a necromancer to become his apprentice!" Arcadia protested. "Besides, I haven't seen him cast even a single spell since he got here."

"That doesn't mean anything, Arcadia." Vilkas said. "Those soul stealers are crafty. Of course he wouldn't be performing dark magic out in the open. I mean, did you even see that letter of recommendation your old friend supposedly sent? Not to mention he's a Khajiit, not exactly the most trustworthy..."

"Oh come on Vilkas!" Ysolda protested. "You've seen him. You've met him. Just because he's a Khajiit doesn't mean he..."

"Lies? Steals? There is a reason those cat people aren't allowed in our cities, Ysolda." Vilkas muttered. "Who says this whole apprentice thing wasn't just an act to catch you off guard and steal your soul while you sleep?"

Ysolda angrily slammed her fist down on the counter, quite nearly knocking over a box of butterfly wings. "Rediculous! A Nord knows a liar when she sees one and let me make one thing very clear to you, Vilkas. John Smith is – not – a necromancer."

"Uhm, excuse me?"

All heads turned towards the doorway where a stranger had appeared. A Nord, dressed in farmer's clothes.

"Did you say, John Smith?"

* * *

The guards had finally removed John's shackles and gag. They weren't needed any longer. The Khajiit no longer had the strength to try and run away, even if doing so would accomplish anything but further cement his guilt in the eyes of the law. Nor was he able to make any kind of coherent noise besides soft wails and whimpers as he lay face-down on the prison cot; his entire backside covered with angry burning cuts and welts.

He was going to die, he knew for certain. He'd be dragged into the town's square and have his head placed on the execution block. The booing and hissing of the assembled crowd and the sight of the headman's axe coming down would be the last thing he'd see or hear. There was no question about it. In the eyes of the people he was a necromancer now. A soul-stealing scourge that would swiftly and mercilessly be brought to justice.

Would his friends be among that crowd too? He thought about Arcadia, his new master. About the Companions. Would they still want to use his healing poultices after hearing about the black soul-gem? What about Ysolda? Fair, strong Ysolda, whose mannerisms were both as delicate and as strong as the thistle flowers he had given her. Would she be watching him, or would her head be turned in disgust?

The Khajiit's ears swiveled towards a noise coming from the door. Someone had entered his cell. He let out a soft whimper as he tried to sit up. If he was to be marched to the chopping block, he figured he should at least do so with some semblance of dignity.

A warm hand was placed upon his shoulder.

"John? Wake up John. It's over."

That voice. He had heard it before, he was certain. He hazily turned his head towards its source and found himself staring into the concerned eyes of a Nord lad.

"Erik?" He mumbled. "What are you doing here?" He was barely able to get the words out as his throat felt raw.

"It's over, John. The Jarl finally agreed to hear our case and he agreed there wasn't enough evidence to prove your guilt."

"You... I... what?" the Khajiit mumbled. Was this a dream? Why else would Erik, the adventurer-to-be he had met only a few days ago be here telling him all this?

"We all spoke up on your behalf. The alchemist, the Nord girl, myself and even the Companions. And the Jarl listened and agreed to let you go. Come on. That Nord girl said she'd make us some stew." Erik smiled as he helped the Khajiit stand up.

"Ysolda?" His friends had done that for him? Was all this true?

"Yeah, that's her name I believe. Come on, we'll lay low for a while at her place. And after that we'll head North. To Helgen. I hear they make great mead there. With berries in it or something. We'll head up there and take it slow for a while. Nothing bad ever happens in Helgen." Erik smiled.

John meekly nodded his head.


End file.
